


Because Cavemen Have Fire. The Sequel.

by elisi



Series: Because Cavemen Have Fire [4]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Dealing with the past is difficult, F/M, Lots of character development, M/M, Multi, OT3, Post-Canon, Settle in for a bumpy ride, things get complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-07-21 08:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: There are always consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always knew the ending (well, it's literally at the start). But getting there was... difficult. I hope you think the journey worthwhile. It'll delve into the darkness in many uncomfortable ways, so thought I'd best put some kind of warning here.

_June 2004, in a nightclub in London. Approximately five months before the start of Because Cavemen Have Fire._

Faith put her arm around Buffy’s shoulders and surveyed the club in concentrated silence before slowly nodding.

“Yeah - this place has got the stuff. Just the thing for a couple of girlfriends to let loose for a bit.”

She grinned at Buffy, and Buffy smiled back, shaking her head. “You’re not here to ‘let loose’ - you’re here to pull. I’m just being pulled.” A beat, then her brain caught up. “ _Along_. Pulled _along_.”

Despite her swift amendment, Faith laughed heartily. “Hey - if that’s what you’re after B, then we could just skip the dancing altogether!”

“Shut up,” Buffy countered, and let her eyes pass over the heaving mass on the dance floor, the bright lights - all the couples, all the singles... She sighed and squared her shoulders. “And anyway,” she turned to Faith, “what happened to you and Robin? I thought you were - involved?”

Faith shrugged. “Nah. Well OK, yes - I mean he’s a _great_ guy, and we had a lot of fun... he really opened my eyes about men to be honest. But - yours truly ain’t really ready to find Mr Right and settle down yet... just look at this place for starters - it’s like a frickin’ convenience store!”

And unwittingly her words drove a sudden knife through Buffy. 

_Convenient._

Closing her eyes she tried to suppress the whole issue - the ‘He came back to life!’, the ‘Why did he never call?’, the ‘Why did Andrew just this _once_ keep a secret?’, the ‘Will there ever be another Mr Right?’... 

_Deep breath. Deep breath. Focus. Fun night out._

Opening her eyes she saw Faith studying her, a frown marring her forehead. 

“I said something again, didn’t I?”

“No,” Buffy quickly replied, before immediately reversing her position. “Well yes, but it’s... I’ll deal. How do you do it?”

She knew that Faith had taken the news of The Big Thing in LA hard as well - she had sketched in a few details about her relations with Angel and Wesley, but was as unwilling to discuss it as Buffy was to discuss Spike... or Angel. So instead they did this - going out, losing themselves in battles or music or dancing or - in Faith’s case - the arms of random strangers. 

“Sex, sweet girlfriend! It just helps take the mind off things - trust me, after a few years in the slammer you’d feel the same.”

Buffy shook her head and they set off down the stairs to the dance floor. She liked the theory, but so far there’d not been anyone tempting enough - no one who’d looked as though he could make her forget very specific arms and hands and kisses. And now, with her heart ripped out for the second time she doubted if it’d ever happen. Fighting seemed the better option by far - and there was some mission in Germany that Giles had mentioned yesterday, one of those where he looked all serious and was obviously assembling a large team armed to the teeth. She’d have to get in on that. For now, she would dance the night away and do her very best not to think of The Bronze and the vampire(s) she’d lost.

Letting go of conscious thought she let the music carry her away, noticing nothing but Faith and her abandon - Faith whose easy friendship and understanding helped keep her afloat. She never had to worry about Faith’s reaction to anything - never needed to explain herself. 

Faith was a lifeline.

***

_February 2005, same London nightclub._

The music wove through and around Buffy, its beat vibrating into every part of her, the strobe lights fragmenting and breaking on her skin, making the world spin. It was almost like a dream, except no dream could ever have been this incredible. Her arms were slung around the neck of a stunningly beautiful and utterly sensual creature, whose lips were whispering sweet, dirty little things in her ear, and whose hands were holding her ever so tightly against his hard body... 

And then other hands intruded, twirling her away into a different embrace, and the pure sheer joy of it all was almost too much.

As she briefly looked around the crowded space, she recognised a small party of younger slayers - mouths and brows drawn in silent, cold disapproval - but nothing could dent her newfound happiness. She’d spent far too long worrying about the approval of others, and far too long mourning what she’d thought gone forever, to even pretend to care now.

Then the song segued into a slow, intimate number, and suddenly they were both there, fitting her between them perfectly - like the heart held between two hands on the ring Angel had once given her.

A shiver went through her as a low voice murmured in her ear, “Let’s go home...”

***

“Buffy...” Angel’s voice was patient, but with just a hint of an edge, “I need you to lie _still_.”

“Can’t,” she gasped, and then squirmed again. The man was unreasonable in the extreme in the bedroom - something she’d been discovering recently - and how anyone was supposed to keep _still_ in this situation she had no idea.

She heard him sigh, and opening her eyes a fraction she could tell that he was now actually thinking about a solution. How was he able to do that? How could anyone be that... rational? She looked at him, the way the low lights highlighted the planes of his body, the pretty mystical symbols on his chest and the faint perspiration catching the light - and all she wanted was to get up and lick him.

With Spike everything was intuitive, instinctive, forever going with the flow and pursuing every new avenue as it opened up. But Angel was methodical - which paid off, it was true, but it was often infuriating beforehand.

“Buffy… would you mind - could I-” 

He hesitated, and she opened her eyes a little more.

“Could I… tie your wrist to the headboard? Not too tight, you could get out any time, but it really would help…”

She blinked, then nodded, impatient. 

“Sure whatever, as long as you don’t stop again.”

He looked relieved, before turning to Spike: 

“Get some rope.”

She could almost hear the grin that answered the command, but then all thoughts were forced out of her mind, as wave after wave of sensation took over. 

How had she ever managed with just one lover?

***

It was well past midday the next day before they got up. But Spike and Angel were leaving on some kind of undercover mission (it had something to do with all their research, but they hadn’t elaborated and she hadn’t asked) and they needed to catch a train. There were a lot of long, lingering kisses and almost-tearfulness, because they’d never really been apart since she’d first found them (except for when Spike had run off) and Buffy felt all hollow when the door finally shut behind them.

Guess they’d proved that a person really _could_ be in love with two people at the same time.

Needing something to occupy her she slowly started tidying. Also Dawn would be coming round tonight with her boyfriend and Buffy had promised to at least pretend to be all respectable.

It was as she rolled up the rope, a small smile forcing its way into the corner of her mouth - because last night really had been something special - that it suddenly hit her.

She looked at the rope, and then shook her head in disbelief, trying to remember exactly what had happened. But... unless she’d been even more out of it that she’d thought, there was no way around it: Angel had said ‘rope’ and Spike had fetched it. Without a single protest or argument. _Not one._

And that was... impossible. As she carefully put the rope back in the weapons’ chest, she could almost hear the arguments still - arguments that had made her go almost insane recently. Two weeks of ‘rope versus hand cuffs’ - debated in every possible way, in every place and at any time... there’d even been some demon that they needed to question that had almost escaped because they started arguing over the best way of tying it down. 

So... what was going on?

Making her way back into the bedroom, smoothing out the bedding and rearranging the pillows (not as neatly as Angel did it, but then she wasn’t that... _fussy_ ), her mind kept turning over the problem. 

And then she realised what it was.

She blinked, then frowned and wondered if maybe she was going crazy, but no: 

They never argued in bed. 

_Ever._

More than two months, and she couldn’t recall a single instant of the two of them disagreeing on anything in the bedroom. True, more often than not they didn’t need words at all, working together like a well oiled machine - she silently groaned at the pun - but whenever something had cropped up, one or the other would just instantly fold. 

Slowly she sank down onto the soft bedspread, taking on board this latest addition to the list she was trying very hard not to keep... The list of ‘Weird Things About Spike and Angel That They Never Talk About’. 

It was a list that had snuck up on her unawares. At first everything had been more than fine, until Spike’s sudden flight had highlighted problems from the past that needed dealing with. And on that front they were doing quite well, what with the actual therapist they were now seeing.

It was another front that was the problem now - and this one she didn’t know how to deal with. It was the one where her two vampires had known each other for one hundred plus years; the one where they were so much older, their pasts soaked in blood; the one where they had bonds that ran deeper than anything she could hope for; the one where she knew they’d been sleeping together and they _refused_ to talk about it (except in a few stupid jokes over Christmas, trying to shock her friends); the one where she’d expected jealousy, and instead got... _‘Spike and I... we’re good.’_

She wanted to call up Faith, the way she was used to, but Faith was currently somewhere in South America, and also what could she say? 

_‘So it’s like a vampire thing?’_

So far she’d been too busy, trying to balance work and vampires, to actually think too deeply about the issues they kept dodging, but now she had untold time to worry.

Maybe she could find a way to bring it up in her next session with Deirdre?

***

The story of their therapist was somewhat convoluted. It had been New Year’s, and Willow had launched into a sentence that was extra rambly, even by her standards.

“So, at Christmas Xander said that you’d said that you were having a few issues, and I didn’t like, want to read _too_ much into that, but on the other hand, it - it can’t be easy, cause you know, long complicated history, and - and vampires - and then I may have sort of mentioned something to Kennedy, and, heh-” and bashful Willow-smile, “Well, you know what Kennedy is like and she thought that you might need some help - not from _us_ , I mean, not directly, although this is sort of us trying to help, but, um, what I’m trying to say is that we found you the name of a therapist who specialises in polyamorous relationships. If, you know, you’d want to talk to someone…”

She’d held a slip of paper forwards with the air of a terrified, apologetic puppy, and Buffy had taken it from her, staring at it with unseeing eyes, her brain trying to make sense of Willow’s words. ‘Polyamorous relationships’ - what they had had a _name_? It was _a thing_? A real thing that other people also had? She wasn’t a freak, she was just making a different choice… 

_Her world turned upside down, she googled the term as soon as she was back home, and wikipedia told her that one of the descriptions of polyamory was ‘consensual, ethical, and responsible non-monogamy’ - a world away from all the _looks_ everyone kept sending her._

She called the therapist the very next day.

Her name was Deirdre, and she was very Scottish, very lesbian and very colourful; from her bright pink hair to her sparkly Doc Martens. She was only in her early thirties, but very smart and down-to-earth - Spike liked her immediately, and even Angel (coming along to a single session, just to say hello) agreed that she was OK.

The main issue turned out be having to construct plausible cover-stories. Spike (previous ‘roving agent’) and Angel (previous ‘CEO of a law firm’) were now in ‘a witness protection programme’ and Buffy mumbled something about being a martial arts expert, but unable to really talk about her job, and Deirdre merely raised an eyebrow (the one that said ‘Americans!’) and said that as long as she could pay the bills they were good.

And Buffy had a feeling she’d be paying those bills for a long time… 

In the first session she’d tried to be brief (she was there to talk about her’s and Spike’s issues, nothing else), but somehow managed to explain about her parents’ divorce (and her father’s subsequent lack of interest in her or her life), how one of the (older) guys she was now living with was someone she’d dated in high school (a very... _rocky_ relationship), and the _other_ (also older) guy she was living with was someone she’d gotten involved with when depressed after her mother’s death (after having dropped out of college to look after her little sister) and then it all went abusive and violent and now they were trying to make a fresh start… It wasn’t that Deirdre had _actually_ rubbed her hands, or had little dollar signs appear in her eyes, but it was clear as day that the amount of baggage Buffy was carrying around could probably keep a therapist busy for a decade or so.

Above all else Buffy realised how good it was to have someone to talk to. Someone completely outside her normal life, someone who didn’t have any prejudices or issues, someone unaware of sacred duties or the million and one reasons she shouldn’t be living with the undead. Someone unaware that the undead even existed.

So… how could she broach the subject of her lovers’ strange bedroom habits?

Maybe she should start with how they didn’t talk…

***

“So, I don’t think I have mentioned this before, but - but when I found them, they-”

Deirdre lifted a pierced eyebrow, and Buffy took a deep breath, studying the beautiful yellow curtains that brightened up Deirdre’s office, even on this dreary February afternoon.

“They were sleeping together. And now they’re… not. And they won’t talk about it.”

Leaning back, the look on Deirdre’s face said _‘Men!’_ loud and clear, but her words were more measured.

“Unfortunately same-sex attraction is still something many men struggle with, and most are incapable of using the word ‘bi-sexual’. And your lads seem… very aware of their own masculinity, shall we say.”

Buffy felt her mind wandering back to the empty house, Spike’s non-reaction when she’d brought up the ‘bi’ word, the casual shrug. _‘Sex is sex.’_ Not to mention the way he’d used her very obvious attraction to the sight of the two of them to try to tempt her into bed. 

And then - _nothing_. But she didn’t know how to really explain that. 

Deirdre noticed her hesitation, and mis-read it. 

“Look, I’ve seen this before. My advice would be to just give them space. You seem to be doing well overall, so take one thing at a time, aye? But… here’s a question for you to think over: What do you want from them? Do you just want them to talk about it or… do you want them to carry on? It might be good to know the answer to that before pushing anything.”

Buffy spent many days turning this question over in her head. 

Training and patrolling (well, overseeing patrolling) took up a lot of time, and at the weekend Dawn insisted that they had to visit an exhibition featuring Turner, Whistler and Monet at Tate Modern for their sisterly bonding. Dawn’s new boyfriend was a great art lover, and so now was Dawn, and Buffy, half-heartedly, felt like explaining that Angel had dragged her and Spike along on the opening night, and then proceeded to mutter corrections at the various descriptions and notes, until Spike had growled: ‘For fuck’s sake, can’t we just enjoy the soddin’ paintings?’ and then she’d _looked_ at them, and they’d had just about stopped bickering and started behaving…

But all that led back to Why They Argued All The Time But Never In Bed, and so she allowed Dawn to set the pace and focussed on the sisterly bonding and the ability to appreciate the art without having to settle any squabbles; as well as the thrill of ‘I actually live in London!’ when walking along the Thames afterwards, a faint winter-sun peering through the grey clouds.

The thrill losing its lustre a little later when her new umbrella blew inside out as the grey clouds made good on their promise to rain quite heavily, followed by grumbling about the tube. 

At least Jaffa cakes were plenty, and she’d gotten the hang of making proper British tea, plus the Indian on the corner was happy to deliver so they didn’t have to go out again, instead sinking into the sofa watching whatever was least rubbish on the TV, and all in all it was an excellent sisterly-bonding day.

But at the back of her mind, the questions were ticking over. And over. And over. And over.

The answers came much sooner than she expected.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory warning for cliché abuse. Also nothing explicit _as such_ , but it goes right up to the line and hovers.

It had been more than a week, and Buffy was torn between worrying about her vampires' welfare and worrying about what to do when they came back.

Then finally, late one February night, her two Champions returned. 

They appeared unharmed, although they had that haunted and exhausted look that they had displayed when she’d first found them... And they were drunk. (Which, to her great relief, meant that she could postpone any questions she might have been working on.)

Spike was carrying several bottles full of green liquid that he very carefully - trying not to trip over the words - explained was called Absinthe.

"Didn't it kill Toulouse Lautrec?" she asked, as she gave them both a sleepy hello kiss, having just fallen asleep when they waltzed through the door.

"Yeah - 'twas banned f’years. Thank fuck’s not anymore..."

Angel nodded assent and grabbed a bottle for himself before sinking into the sofa. 

“Spike's right, 's very good stuff - Buffy, d’you want some?"

She shook her head mutely, and prayed that their vampire constitution meant that they weren’t going to throw it all back up.

“Did you record 24?” Spike asked, dropping down next to Angel, and she pointed to the pile next to the TV.

“It’s all clearly marked. Just turn the sound down, OK? It’s not like you don’t have super hearing...”

And she shuffled back to bed, thinking what a marvellous thing _two_ boyfriends were, since otherwise she’d have needed to fend off drunken pledges of affection and clumsy kisses that’d end in snoring and not sex. This way they could argue about Jack Bauer with each other, and then fall asleep in a pile on the sofa.

***

Some hours later - she wasn't sure how many - she woke up again, and, noticing that they hadn't come to bed yet, thought she'd check on them. Or rather - make sure that all the curtains were drawn. Waking up to screams and piles of dust was not how she wanted to start her morning - and she knew London weather well enough by now to know that it'd happily turn sunny after a solid two months of greyness just to spite her.

Silently opening the bedroom door a fraction she heard their voices, but the sitting room appeared to be empty, and only a small side lamp was still on. 

Frowning she took a step in, scanning the room - and then froze.

They were on the rug on the floor, mostly covered from her viewpoint by the sofa, and - as far as she could tell - naked. The lonely lamp illuminated their faces and the part of their upper bodies that she could see, and they almost shone against the darkness of the room. Spike was on his back, hands under his head, and Angel was on the far side of him, perched up on his elbow and slowly running his free hand through Spike's hair. And they’d obviously done their best to finish the bottles they’d brought. 

"Why'd ye 'ave t'ruin it, William..." Angel asked, words slurred and with the particular sorrowful intonation of the very drunk. And sounding more Irish than Buffy had ever heard outside of mostly forgotten dreams. 

"Twas so pretty when i‘twas long..."

He tugged at Spike's short platinum locks and sighed. 

"And t'colour 's awful! Should grow it out." 

He looked at Spike solemnly, and Spike looked back, indifferent. 

"Yeah, but 'm a rebel, so... I don' listen to what Irish pooftersh tell me."

Buffy stared, speechless. Apparently they were discussing Spike's hair... but why were they doing so on the floor? And - well, what exactly were they doing on the floor? _Naked?_ Without _her_... 

"Sire!" Angel countered. Then, after a beat. "Granshire. Whadever... Ye should do ash ye're told, boy! An' I shay ye're prettier with yer hair long. Liked... liked the ponytail..." 

Spike grinned up at him, and Buffy knew the cheeky, impish look far too well.

"'M pretty, am I?"

The effort of holding Angel's eyes obviously too laborious, he let his head fall to the side, and, in the longest double take Buffy had ever seen, realised that she was there. 

"Buffy..." he said, with neither surprise nor particular interest and as though he expected her to evaporate any moment.

Slowly he turned his head back to gaze at Angel, who didn't even look up. 

"Don' want Buffy..." he said in a voice so petulant that Buffy would have laughed if she hadn't been so shocked. 

"Want my speshial, my pretty boy." 

He carefully followed the line of Spike's cheekbone from temple to chin with his finger, before slowly stroking his lower lip - his eyes never leaving Spike’s face, drinking in the sight of him. Then with a sudden dark smile, moving with much greater speed than anyone that drunk had the right to, he pulled himself on top of Spike and proceeded to kiss him hard. Spike, having obviously forgotten everything about Buffy the second his eyes left her, responded in kind, his hands fisting in Angel’s hair as he closed his eyes in pleasure. 

Buffy felt like all air had been sucked out of her. This was every worry, every dismissed nightmare she’d had in the last week playing out in front of her eyes. And yet... The few times she’d asked what their deal was they’d always warned her that she didn’t want to know - hinting at all sorts of dark things in their past. A rather good strategy since it had made her back off, unsure at what they could be hiding.

 _This_ had certainly never occurred to her.

Spike was Angel’s ‘Special Boy’? Angel was telling Spike that he was _pretty_?

Although... how much of this was ‘real’ and how much the alcohol? Or... was the alcohol revealing truths otherwise hidden? 

She wanted to run away; wanted to scream at them to stop, to _explain_... but found herself frozen in place, unable to move, butterflies of lead settling in her stomach.

Then Angel pulled away, and their eyes locked together once again. There came on their faces a look that Buffy recognised far too well... and yet it had a different kind of undertone to it. 

Angel brought up his hand to Spike’s mouth, and Spike proceeded to lick the fingers, before the hand moved out of frame again and Spike took a sharp breath, biting his lip. 

Then Angel moved - slowly, slowly - as both their expressions hovered between elation and delicious ache. 

Lying perfectly still together for a moment they held each others’ eyes, and then Angel spoke; voice barely above a whisper, the intonations so odd that Buffy had a feeling he might be speaking a different language.

“Ye - be _mine_?”

There was a beat, as Spike drew a deep breath, face unreadable. Then he smiled the strangest, softest smile. 

“Yours... _Sire_.”

Angel’s response was a wide and joyful grin, unguarded and open... and yet at the same time fiercely - uncomfortably - possessive. 

They started moving together; fluidly, gracefully, and Buffy had to put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. They were so beautiful - almost like wild animals, she thought; golden shimmering bodies outlined against the blackness. 

Her feelings were so confused that she didn’t know what to think. Part of her was turned on - _very_ turned on - another part felt betrayed as painful memories resurfaced unbidden, their hollow ghosts mocking her. A completely different part was trying to work out what it was she was seeing - she remembered Dawn talking about all sort of things like vampire mating rituals, claiming, blood rites and the like. Was that what this was? 

Then Spike’s face contorted. 

“Oh fuck... _Angel_!” he breathed, in a voice she could barely recognise. The tiniest fraction later Angel was in full game face, burying his fangs in Spike’s neck, and Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth. 

Spike was clinging onto Angel, face caught in rapture, as they both trembled to their completion. It was such an intensely private moment that Buffy felt like an unlawful intruder, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away. 

_‘We’re vampires and it’s... different,’_ Angel had told her once. And... it was. She shared a part in it, she knew, the demon-y darkness a part of her that she would never give up, even if she could. But still this was... alien. 

At the back of her mind she could hear all the voices she’d tried to block out for the past few months... _‘It’s unnatural’, ‘It’ll never work’, ‘Get out Buffy before they break your heart again’, ‘I know they love you, but threesomes just aren’t very stable’, ‘They worked for Wolfram & Hart you can’t trust them’, ‘Buffy... I don’t want to be a killjoy, but are you **sure**?’..._

And then, one voice stood out.

_‘Listen B, if you ever feel like sharing, you know I’ll be there in a heartbeat, right?’_

It wasn’t so much the lifted eyebrow or the dirty laugh, but the knowledge that the other Slayer knew and understood the darkness she was choosing, and would have made the same choice herself - the only one who grasped the strength of the bonds tying Buffy to the vampires in question.

She desperately wished that Faith could have been there with her.

In silence she watched Angel slowly roll off, then pull a near-unconscious Spike into his arms, nesting Spike’s head on his shoulder, before finally planting a soft kiss on his messed-up hair.

Asleep in moments, they didn’t notice her as she spread a blanket over them - a blanket she knew that they didn’t need.

Then she walked back to her bed, which was large and cold and lonely, caught between the terror of everything falling apart and the sudden urge to kill something.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Buffy spent a good while just observing her sleeping vampires.

It felt like a weird kind of déjà vu, her memories of the morning she'd found them overlapping with the now. But the sheer shock of finding both had overshadowed any other considerations, and she’d not wanted to upset the delicate balance they maintained by poking around where they didn’t want her, figuring they’d open up eventually. 

Well _that_ strategy sure had worked out great.

When Spike - as usual the first to wake - slowly came to life, blinking against the brightness, she was sitting on the sofa above him, a cup of tea cradled in her hands and her face as expressionless as she could make it.

Seeing her he smiled, sleepy-eyed but happy, since mornings had by default ended up as ‘their time’, and more often than not she’d bring him a cup of blood. Well this morning was going to be different. 

( _‘Be Deirdre,’_ she told herself. _‘Be Deirdre. Be detached and calm and logical. You can do this. You **have** to do this.’_)

“Good morning... _Special Boy_ ,” she said, pointedly, and for a few seconds he stared at her completely blankly. 

Then he took in Angel’s still sleeping form, noting his arms around him, before his hand flew to his neck and the still visible bite marks from last night.

He looked back up at her, unable to find an expression to fit.

“Oh bollocks,” he whispered. “Did you see...”

“Oh yeah,” she replied.

Looking horrified he started to shake his head, and then winced in pain. 

“ _Fuck_ , my head hurts.”

“Good,” she said callously, and smiled.

Then, after taking a thoughtful sip of her tea, she asked, “Does he often call you William?”

He stared at her, trying to work out where she was going with this, and then understood that just answering questions was his job for now.

“Mostly just when he’s very drunk,” he answered, sighing. “Things... names... the past and the present... they... blur.”

She considered this for a moment. “Was that what happened last night - too much drink?”

He held her eyes for a second, before suddenly lowering his eyes, swallowing. 

“It _always_ blurs... with the two of us. Ever since the first time, it just...” He stopped, studying at his hands, obviously trying to find the right words and wishing that he didn’t. 

“ _We_ are different than we were back then, but the things we do... the things we want... they’re the same. We didn’t - we didn’t want you to have to deal with that.”

As he tried to sit up and get a bit more comfortable, Angel grunted and tightened his hold, before mumbling a very distinct, “Stay!”

“Sorry Peaches, but...” Spike, unable to continue, instead shook Angel’s shoulder. 

Angel grimaced, his head obviously in as bad a state as Spike’s, but with great effort opened his eyes. And froze.

Looking from Buffy to Spike and back again, Buffy could not remember seeing him more bewildered and worried (which was saying something). He sat up, quickly letting go of Spike, who just shrugged.

“Don’t bother. Apparently she saw the whole thing last night.”

Angel stared at him. “She... _saw_?”

Spike nodded carefully.

“What do you _mean_ saw?”

“I mean front row in the Vampire Sexcapades.”

It was good that vampires couldn’t hyperventilate, because otherwise Angel would probably have passed out. 

“And... she wants some answers,” Spike continued, “What with the-” he lightly touched the bite mark, and Angel closed his eyes.

“Oh God.”

Buffy took another sip of tea, but it didn’t seem to have the same steeling effect it did on Giles. But they didn’t know that...

“Yeah, don’t think God’s listening. Spike? You once told me that you seduced Angel, but you wouldn’t tell me how. Or why. Or _anything_ about you two. And last night...” 

She folded both hands around the cup, suddenly feeling very small and lonely. “You didn’t want _me_ \- you just wanted each other.”

Angel opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“Apparently Spike is your ‘special, pretty boy’, care to elaborate on that?”

“I... he...”

Angel looked from Spike to her and back again, clearly contemplating the benefits of a stroll in the early morning sun, which caused Spike to roll his eyes and, ignoring Angel’s mute protest, finally started talking. 

“Right - you know when I ran away before Christmas? The reason behind it - what I almost...”

She nodded. There was no reason to name it, they’d been over this with Deirdre plenty already. Spike sighed.

“Well... _he_ nearly ran away when I first tried to get him into bed. You see...” he shot Angel a look, and the other looked back, pleading. Holding Angel’s eyes Spike kept speaking.

“The thing is that with him and me it wasn’t just _one_ time, and it wasn’t just _almost_... There were _years_ of fucked-up mess that we had to deal with...”

Buffy looked from one to the other, trying to fit her head around what Spike had said. And then it hit her.

“You... Oh. He rap-”

Her hand flew to her mouth, and Angel was obviously near to running away, judging by the expression on his face. Spike shrugged, and turned back to her.

“Worst vampire on record - you don’t get that reputation by asking for things nicely. You take what you want and you use every trick in the book to make sure you’re top dog. And... I didn’t make it easy for him.”

He smiled, lifting an eyebrow, but Buffy wasn’t able to meet his grin with a smile of her own, and apparently neither was Angel. 

Spike sighed. “You asked. And don't go feelin' sorry for me, I was making a name for myself by torturing people with railway spikes and deserved far worse than I got. As for how I seduced him, then it’s very straightforward - I quite simply gave him permission to do anything he wants.” 

He stopped briefly, studying Angel, blue eyes unflinching and contemplative.

“No safewords, no holding back, no disobedience. As ‘m sure you’ve noticed he’s a domineering control freak.”

She nodded, remembering the rope. It all made sense, finally. 

“Goes both ways of course,” he continued, the look on his face once more inscrutable. “Let’s just say that living with the kinda sins we carry around makes us somewhat gluttons for punishment.”

“I... see.”

Oh she saw. Saw Angel waiting for the sunrise; saw Spike begging her to stake him; saw the flip side too - the near-uncontrollable passion that lay so close beneath the surface. 

Add the two together and... you got everything squared. Lust and guilt and pain feeding off each other in a never ending circle... It brought up deeply uncomfortable memories from Christmas, and the sense of betrayal raised its head again. She’d thought they’d taken a step forwards then.

“But - why didn’t you tell me before? I mean it’s not like _I’ve_ been holding back, and I _asked_ you to share. Why... why didn’t you?”

There was a long pause.

“Because it’s nothing to do with you,” Angel said, tight-lipped, and the urge to kill things suddenly returned with a vengeance.

“Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me! I mean, I know that none of us is exactly brilliant at sharing, or relationships, but we are all in this together and that means that what happened between you two has _everything_ to do with me. Especially now the elephant in the corner got drunk and trampled all over the flat... You know last night was, like, the _single_ worst way I could have found out, right? So from now on I want everything out in the open, understood?” 

She shook her head angrily. 

“God I thought we were _over_ this.”

“Buffy-” Angel began, in that calm, lecturing voice that always grated, and she immediately cut him off.

“Don’t ‘Buffy’ me! Remember I told you that I want it _all_. That includes you two... _y’know_... which, by the way, is really, _really_ hot. Well apart from the bite-y thing, but we’ll... work on that, OK?”

Angel looked like continuing his lecture, and she held up a hand.

“Unless the next words out of your mouth are ‘Yes Buffy’ don’t bother answering.”

“Yes Buffy,” Spike deadpanned, and she had to bite back a smile. They _would_ make it work, because she wasn’t willing to accept any alternatives.

“Look, what Angel was tryin’ to say-” he added, but before he could get any further the phone rang.

Caught between relief and annoyance, Buffy picked it up.

“Buffy?” Dawn’s voice was almost vibrating with excitement, “Faith’s back!”

“Huh? But... I thought she was in South America?”

“Willow teleported her back. And she and Giles are totally having a _huge_ fight in his office!”

The glee was so palpable that Buffy could almost touch it, and she grinned.

“I’m on my way.”

Putting down the phone she looked from vampire to vampire.

“We’ll continue this later, OK?”

“Yes Buffy,” Angel said, and she smiled.

He didn’t smile back, but she was too busy calling a cab and finding her purse and coat to notice.

When she left shortly afterwards, Spike and Angel still hadn’t moved.

But she deliberately pushed them out of her mind. She needed a break, and she was sure they could work things out. After all, if she and Spike could forgive each other - if she could come to terms with Angel’s actions as CEO - then surely it was possible to overcome this latest obstacle too, right?

***

The door closed behind her, and for a long moment silence reigned in the flat.

“We shouldn’t have come here,” Angel finally said.

Spike looked away, avoiding Angel’s eyes, and didn’t reply.

Bloody absinthe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one... has had a bit of work done, so if anyone is re-reading, then yes, it's longer and delves deeper.

When Buffy arrived at the Council she found Faith in the lobby, surrounded by younger slayers.

“Hey - Queen B is here. Scram!” Faith said good-naturedly, and reluctantly they scattered, leaving only Dawn, who looked like she was glued to Faith’s side.

“You too brat,” Faith admonished, and Buffy frowned.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the Academy?”

“Ancients Text Studies today,” Dawn countered. “Get to wander around in the archives and get told off by The Ancient Keepers of the Books. Oh! And Vicky said that-”

“Dawn? Go. Away.”

Her little sister rolled her eyes.

“Geez, _someone_ got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning. Aren’t Spike and Angel back soon? You’re lots happier when you’re getting some.”

_“Dawn!”_

Sensing that she might actually be in physical danger soon, Dawn finally got up.

“OK OK, I’m going! You _could_ say thank you that I called you, you know.”

“ _Thank_ you. Now shoo. Or I tell your boyfriend that you once kissed a vampire.”

With an evil glance and an angry flick of her hair Dawn walked off, and Buffy sighed and fell into the chair next to Faith.

“Sisters!”

Faith chuckled and Buffy could feel the tension draining away. 

“So tell me everything - why were you taking my place as Giles’ person to yell at? Not that I’m complaining.”

Faith sighed and shot her a droll look.

“I lost the manuscript.”

Well that explained a lot...

“The one you went to find? The very, very super-rare manuscript that was The Last Copy in existence and all that?”

“Uh-huh,” Faith nodded. “Which, y’know, fair enough, I screwed up. But _then_ he started rippin’ into my methods and _dude_ \- no Watcher tells _me_ how to do my job. And that was _before_ he started off down memory lane, sayin’ how it all used to be better when there was a shit load of Watchers ordering us around. That kinda crap might work with the junior crowd, but I _know_ what the Council used to be like, and almost gettin’ assassinated ain’t exactly helping me see the rose tinted vision, y’know?”

“Oh _trust_ me, I know,” Buffy answered.

The next half hour was spent listening to Faith’s very own brand of story telling, until she stretched, yawning.

“OK. Gotta go find my bed, I think the jet lag is setting in.” 

Then she shot Buffy a too-sharp-for-comfort look. “Which, by the way, how’s your bed-situation?”

“Huh?”

“Hey - don’t mean to pry, but you’ve not mentioned your guys at all, and that’s just not normal.”

For a moment the events of the past twelve hours flashed before Buffy’s eyes, and a dozen conflicting emotions fought for dominance. But then, suddenly, she knew what to do, and a slow grin spread across her face.

“Remember Christmas?” she began, wondering why she’d never thought to do this before.

***

In the end, Buffy stayed at the Council almost all day. She told herself that she wasn’t being avoidy, there was just a lot of work (which was perfectly true), and also she had managed to book an emergency appointment with Deirdre.

When she got finally back it was after eight o’clock, and she met Angel on the stairs, obviously heading out.

He stopped when he saw her, that impenetrably stubborn look still on his face.

“Angel-” she began, and then faltered, since she didn’t actually know what to say. He studied her silently for a long moment, monolithic and immovable, his eyes dark.

“You once told me that you loved me, but didn’t trust me. That was a good call.”

“What? Angel-”

“I’ll probably be late, don’t wait up,” he said, walking past her, and she wanted to scream at him - or maybe just stick out a foot and watch him fall.

Instead she did the grown-up thing and tried to ignore him completely. Spike, hopefully, would be easier to talk to, although to be honest he couldn’t be _more_ difficult, since the only thing more uncommunicative than Angel was a big rock.

Spike was sprawled on the sofa when she came in, TV blaring, but he turned it off as soon as he saw her.

“So... um... how’s Faith?”

“She’s... fine. Lost a manuscript, but these things happen.”

“Right.”

There was an uncomfortable pause, as Spike shifted on the sofa.

“Angel went out - needed to... see a guy about a thing.”

“Yeah, I... met him on the stairs. He told me that I shouldn’t trust him, which is just...” 

She sighed and hung up her coat. 

“Hello Mr Cryptic Night Creature, observe how much I’ve not missed you.”

Spike didn’t say anything at first, but got up and then apparently didn’t know what to do, before finally catching her eyes.

“He’s not wrong.”

“Spike-”

“Look, you don’t _understand_ -”

“Because you don’t _explain_! It’s been _months_ and you’ve not said a word. How the hell am I supposed to ‘understand’?”

Her frustration from earlier on was obviously still there, and this time Spike was giving Angel a good run for his money in the Looking Stubborn department.

“We’ve not talked about it because you _can’t_ understand!”

They locked eyes, and she shook her head.

“I refuse to accept that. Explain.”

He closed his eyes briefly, anger and built-up tension in every line of his body, and fists briefly clenching. 

“ _Fine_. Here’s how it is: Angel and I? We’re in love with _pain_. What we have is old, and ugly, and it’s pure demon. But - it _works_. It’s what stops us from rippin’ each other’s throats out, fightin’ over you.”

He was stalking towards her now, movements slow and deliberate, eyes burning with intensity.

“Loving _you_? That’s what stops us from ripping out _your_ throat.”

She swallowed, but didn’t move as he stopped in front of her, their bodies almost touching and his eyes suddenly flickering gold.

“You were born to slay us - we were born to destroy you. Your blood sings to us to drink you up until there’s nothing left. Do you know how often we dream of it? How easy it’d be?”

He leaned in, and she could feel his face change against her neck, fangs pressing against old scars, his arms folding around her as he pulled her flush against him, and for a second she couldn’t breathe. 

It was as if the darkness of his crypt was once more closing in around them - like dancing with death just to touch the fire; like want-take-have and paying the price in tears and bruises and self-loathing. She could feel her breath grow shallow as he pressed against her, hard and demanding and _dangerous_ (Angel’s fangs tearing into her neck, drinking; pain and ecstasy intertwined), and, as she closed her eyes, she whispered, “I trust you.”

He pulled back so abruptly that she was left swaying on her feet, trying to regain her balance.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he said, backing away, terror in his eyes.

“Spike...”

“Angel’s right, we shouldn’t have come here.”

“Oh don’t you _dare_!”

The next second he was on the floor, wincing in pain, and she was standing above him, fist still raised and tears stinging in her eyes.

“See pet?” he said, and she shook her head as she lowered her hand.

“No. No - I won’t let this happen. This is not who we are anymore.”

_(‘Old patterns die very very hard,’ Deirdre had explained. ‘It’s like trying to force a river to go down a new cut - any pressure, and the banks will break and it’ll make for its old riverbed.’)_

She could see the way his skin was beginning to redden, and felt like the ground beneath her was sinking. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid… 

“Isn’t it?” he asked, as he slowly picked himself up off the floor. “We are playing with fire, and one wrong spark - just _one_ \- could burn down the whole house.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, fighting against the shaking that was threatening to take hold of her.

“Because one day you’ll realise that no matter how much you love us, we’ll always be monsters.”

Slowly she shook her head.

“Do you love me?”

He looked like his heart was breaking, blue eyes an ocean she could easily drown in.

“Always,” he whispered.

“Then you’re not a monster.”

“It’s not that simple...”

“I am _making_ it that simple. Spike - I _know_ what you are, and I’m not going to let your... issues destroy what we’ve got. I want the fire, because I’ve tried to live without it. And I’m not going back to that, ever.”

“Buffy...” he said, and she stepped closer, reaching out and capturing his hand.

“Listen, I’ve had enough of hiding - _especially_ of you two hiding what you have. Which is why, by now, probably even the little Slayers in Australia know about you and Angel being lovers.”

His eyes widened.

“What?”

“Secrets are bad, sharing is good. So whether you or Angel need to fight or kiss, or both - just do it. I don’t want you to hold back anymore. I’ve lost you both and now I've got you back I will _not_ allow you to run away, understood?”

He nodded carefully, and she smiled, finally feeling on slightly firmer ground. 

“And by the way, from what the next generation were saying, they thought you were already sleeping together… They… mostly seemed to think it was really hot.”

Her voice trailed off and, exhausted, she let go of his hand and allowed herself to sink into the sofa, the afternoon’s training session looming in her mind.

“And then one of them decided to ask what it was like to be bitten and I…” 

He was now just standing there, studying her with a frown, and she shook her head. 

“I had to do this long talk about how vampires _will just kill you_ and the Master biting me and then drowning me and how dying is mostly just majorly painful, and they’re just… they’re so _young_. And some of them apparently don’t think beyond the fact that you look cool; they haven’t got the _faintest_ idea about… anything.” 

She shook her head.

“I think I prefer the ones who just think it’s all disgusting and that I’m a freak. At least they won’t get themselves killed out of curiosity.”

Gently he sat himself down and took her hand, and she let her head fall on his shoulder. She hated that Giles might have had a point in what kind of example she was setting, and didn’t have a clue what to do next. Although the main thing right now was to somehow salvage her relationship(s).

“Spike,” she said, almost without thinking, “why doesn’t Angel want to be with me?”

A long silence followed, and eventually she turned her head and looked up at him.

“He loves you,” he eventually replied, and she half-smiled. “Love was never the problem. But he’s just… he’s just so _unwilling_. Deirdre said-” 

“Deirdre?” he asked, and she nodded. “Got an emergency appointment. She said that he might have commitment issues, or be afraid of hurting me again or… there were a lot of possibilities, and that was without, y’know, her knowing about the vampire stuff. Mostly she said that he should have come along to our sessions from the start.”

Spike snorted, the first genuine hint of amusement she had seen all day.

“Good luck with that, he wouldn’t talk unless she-”

He stopped, and she could track the development of some sort of idea as it slowly lit up his face.

“Actually-” he moved back, so he was facing her, studying her intently. 

“If you want in on it, if you want us to share… Well. If _I_ wanted to make Angel talk, I...” he hesitated momentarily. “I’d tie him up and then apply - or remove - pain and pleasure as necessary. Would you be up for that? If we needed to... take drastic measures? You could be pleasure, I could be pain.” A beat, as something wicked glinted in his eyes. “I have _no problems_ hurting him.”

She took a moment to take this in. Remembered Spike on the bed, bloodied and hurt, and Angel saying he’d have done _that_ if Spike had asked. She had backed away then, but no longer had that luxury. It was all or nothing.

“You’re serious?”

“One hundred percent. You want it all, that’s what you’ll get. It ain’t pretty and it’ll be… hella difficult with our history, and it might all end in tears, but…”

He spread his hands, and she suddenly felt her love for him almost choking her. How did he do this? Just _keep_ giving? No wonder Angel had given in, how could anyone not?

Reaching up she cradled his face, studying the white hair, the ridiculous cheekbones, the eyes that were watching her with hope and worry intertwined; as always holding out his heart to her, willing to do whatever it took. She smiled, and made her decision.

“I’m in. But first… Will you make love to me? Just you and me? Only pleasure, no pain.”

His kiss was pure surrender.

***

Buffy knew that she was awake, only she couldn’t remember waking. She’d fallen asleep in Spike’s arms, but he had obviously moved, since there was a pillow under her head instead of an arm. Shifting a fraction, she turned her head to see what could have woken her.

The room was black, but the bedroom curtains were half-open - through carelessness or on purpose, she couldn’t remember - and the bright white of the street lamps passed over her head and painted her two vampires in hues of darkest blue and shimmering silver. Like an old monochrome movie playing just for her.

Angel - still in his coat, so dark that he looked like a shadow - was furthest from her, half-sitting on the bed and resting his back against the headboard. Spike, naked skin gleaming, was turned towards him.

Had they been here long? Had they been talking? There was an odd quietness about them, far removed from the usual bickering and also from the naked lust of the previous night.

“So?” Angel asked.

“Well... we... discussed things.”

“So I see,” Angel remarked drily, and Spike shook his head. “This was just the finale. Got kinda messy before that, but she’s made up her mind that we’re working this out.”

“Spike... “

“Listen, you want to argue with her too, go ahead, it won’t change her mind. Also she’s decided that secrets are bad, so she apparently spent today telling everyone about you and me.”

“You and me... What about you and me?”

“What do you _think_ , moron? It’s lucky we don’t show up on film anymore or I’m sure she’d have handed out photographic evidence.”

Angel’s mouth fell open, but Spike just shrugged, a small wicked smile playing on his lips.

“So I was thinkin’- if we’re going to include her in our little freak show somehow, we could get her a whip? Not that she’d have Darla’s expertise, but I’m sure she’d be a natural.”

Angel didn’t reply immediately, but the look on his face spoke volumes. Then abruptly he pulled Spike towards him, his left hand fisting in Spike’s hair.

“Bite your tongue,” he said, voice rough, but Spike chuckled and leaned in, eyes glowing. 

“Do it for me,” he answered, voice a low purr, and Angel’s nostrils flared before he captured Spike’s mouth with his own.

For a moment they flickered into gameface, then there was just the deep, slow kiss of those who didn’t need to breathe, and Buffy could feel the rest of world fall away. 

This was hers. Theirs. All this passion and fire - dark and dangerous, true, but also beautiful, and utterly captivating. She could watch them forever.

Still - when they finally broke apart she coughed politely.

“A _whip_?”

Time stood still as they turned to her, but at least they didn’t flinch or break apart. 

For what seemed like an eternity Angel didn’t speak.

“Whips are... nice,” he finally said, half-embarrassed and half-defiant, and somehow looking like he was ten years old, which was cute and, if she was honest, not a little creepy. 

But more importantly, he was apparently making an effort instead of trying trying to shut her down. 

“Nice?” she repeated (because he wasn’t getting off easy) and Angel squirmed a little more, as Spike quietly moved out of the way.

“It takes great skill to wield a whip properly, and they’re very... versatile.”

She nodded.

“OK, we’ll get one.”

Angel swallowed.

”Buffy...”

“Yes Angel?” she said sweetly.

His only answer was a kiss, deep and hungry, which left her gasping for air and with the coppery tang of Spike’s blood on her tongue. 

But if that was the price for love, then it was worth paying.

_Later_

It was dark, the moon behind a cloud.

Spike and Buffy had fallen asleep, blonde heads against soft pillows, and Angel sat watching them, thinking. Remembering.

He had been here before. Beautiful, deadly creatures that belonged to him, a bed containing the world.

He dragged a hand across his face. Was he a fool? How could he possibly allow himself this?

_‘I never escaped from hell. All I got was a short reprieve. Not even sure how I managed that.’_

And yet here he was, as close to heaven as he was ever likely to get. Did they understand the conflict at all? He doubted it, but then they weren’t aware of the memories crowding his head. It wasn’t whips that had swayed him, or whatever little plans they had concocted. No; something older, a memory only he had.

Buffy tear-streaked face, desperate, pleading that she would never forget after their one day together when he’d been human.

_‘How am I supposed to go on with my life knowing what we had? What we could have had?’_

He had made the decision then, bearing the burden alone and choosing the harder road, refusing her a choice. Turned out, he couldn’t do that twice. Even if he knew that this couldn’t go on, that they were playing with fire and that the house could burn down at any moment… 

He was helpless against them; was weak, the way he always had been. Story of his life. 

Sighing he got up. 

There was blood on his hands, his clothes. He was unsure if Buffy had noticed; if it would have made a difference. 

Bending down he kissed a blonde head and knew that the decision had already been made - he was staying. All he could do now was hope they could pay the price.


	5. Chapter 5

  


_March 2005_

How had it ended up as half past two in the morning? Giles rubbed his eyes and decided that he probably needed to get home - the rest would have to wait until tomorrow. Considering how many people he had on his team, there was still a unwelcome amount of work that he had to supervise and check himself. But after tidying the papers into orderly piles, he realised with a sigh that three of the books from the archives would need returning sooner rather than later - they were delicate and really shouldn’t have been removed from their glass cases.

As he slowly made his way down into the bowels of the (New) Council building, he remembered how Buffy used to make fun of his concern for books - back in the days when their relationship had been free and easy. These days - well until a few months ago, they’d been... OK, he thought. He had become used to the fact that she was an adult, and pleased to have her around. True, she’d seemed a bit at a loose end, but then that was perfectly normal for a young person in their twenties. But then she’d found her vampires... 

He shook his head, wondering. Of course he had no right to tell her what to do, but he couldn’t help but think that she’d made a terrible mistake. Finally she had the opportunity for a normal life, and instead... No he couldn’t fathom it. And he barely saw her anymore. She kept to her training schedule, did all her duties and more besides, but there was a gap between her and the rest of the Slayers now. Moreso than before.

She was always friendly of course - came round to say hello and ask what was happening and if there were any interesting missions coming up, but he could tell that there was yet another screen between them.

If he was honest with himself, he supposed he was worried at how isolated she had become. Xander had gone back to Africa after Christmas, Willow and Kennedy were traipsing around South America again, and Dawn was busy with her studies and new friends (as well as blossoming into a rather terrifyingly magnificent young woman), leaving precious little time for her older sister. 

Of course there was Faith, who was a whole headache in herself... 

The selfish, petulant part of him rather wished that his two senior Slayers weren’t so close, especially since - despite always working hard, and effortlessly inspiring their younger charges - their attitudes towards the Council (not to mention their personal lives) were not exactly all he could wish for. Was it so much to ask for a little support now and again?

When he finally reached the basement (a little out of breath), he carefully stored the books away in their specially made cases, trying his best to appreciate what had been recovered, rather than mourn what had been lost. As was his habit whenever he was in the library he did a swift sweep, and even before he saw that the light was on in the main room, he could smell the smoke. With a deep sigh he silently pushed the door open and walked along the deep carpet, the tall bookcases towering above him, tiredly making his way towards the centre.

When he got nearer he slowed down, feeling disinclined to push a confrontation, and yet knowing that it was his responsibility. The notes had done no good at all. And thanks to that blasted spell they used to hide from Wolfram & Hart, they didn’t even show up on the security cameras.

Peering round the corner of bookcase he saw the two vampires sitting at the largest of the tables, several stacks of books piled up around them. Angel was hunched over a large tome, brow furrowed, whereas Spike was stretched out over two chairs, his feet on the table, a book in one hand and a cigarette in the other... and, Giles noticed with a frown, an antique saucer serving as ashtray.

Throwing the book back onto the table, Spike stretched and dragged his hand through his hair. 

"Could do with one of those template books Wesley had. Would make life a lot easier."

Angel shrugged and looked up briefly. 

"Only if you know what you're looking for. It’s _Wesley_ we need."

Spike sighed deeply. 

"Yeah... If only her blue highness had arrived five minutes earlier...”

He stopped and looked at Angel, eyes suddenly pained. “Sorry - didn’t-”

Angel shook his head. “It’s OK, at least he’s at peace now.”

“Yeah...”

There was a moment’s silence, then Spike stubbed out the dying cigarette and lit a new one. Angel pulled a face.

“Spike - do you _have_ to smoke?”

The other looked back indifferently. “What’s it to you? It’s not like you breathe...”

“It smells bad. Buffy thinks so too.”

Spike shrugged. “When _Buffy_ wants me to stop, I’ll stop.”

“She asks you to stop every day!” There was a note of exasperation in Angel’s voice that Giles understood only too well. Spike however stayed utterly impassive.

“When she _tells_ me to stop, I’ll stop.”

Angel sighed deeply and returned to his book. Spike shifted through the biggest pile in front of him, and then buried his head in his hands.

“God I'm so bloody bored."

“Can’t do a Phoenix every day,” Angel replied distractedly as he carefully copied a passage that had caught his eye. 

Giles - who’d been about to speak up - frowned, as he tried to remember why ‘Phoenix’ rang a bell. There’d been a report last year... a massacre, was it? Or was he getting it mixed up that thing in Aspen? If only he wasn’t so tired...

Trying his hardest to pinpoint why the name had significance, he didn’t pay much attention to the vampires, as Spike stretched and got up. Cigarette held between his lips, he started to aimlessly looking through the book shelves furthest away from where Giles was standing.

"Hey - this one's in the wrong place. Vampire Anthologies should definitely be on those shelves over there." 

He flicked through it, then frowned. "Oh - I’ve not seen this one before. Let's see what it says about me... Hey it’s got pictures. How posh."

A few moments later he started chuckling. Angel looked up again.

“What now?”

Spike studied at him, obviously enjoying himself. 

"Sorry mate, but did you grow that moustache for a bet? Or did you just want to frighten people to death in new and different ways?"

Angel glowered silently and returned to his book. Spike was silent for another while, and then made a little 'hmp' sound.

"According to this one I was turned in the early nineteenth century - funny how they all want to make me older." 

Then he tilted his head, studying something. "Nice picture... must have been shortly after I killed my first Slayer..."

"Really?" Angel said, suddenly interested. He got up and walked over to Spike, looking intently at the page that was open.

"Yes... that's what I was talking about. Bring it home - I want to show it to Buffy. I'm sure she'll agree that it's a lot better than that horrible bleached thing you’ve got going - of course you’d need a hairdresser to trim it on occasion so it doesn’t go that straggly, but overall as a look it’s far better."

Giles frowned, thrown out of his unproductive musings, and decided that maybe he should just go - this was beyond the bizarre. He’d have thought he was dreaming if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d never dream anything this odd.

Spike shook his head. 

"Poofter," he said good-naturedly, a small smirk on his face.

Angel didn't respond with the sort of repartee Giles was expecting. Instead he tilted his head, eyes narrowing. 

"And now what would that make you?"

Spike's smirk widened. 

"Irresistible?" he suggested, tongue curling behind his teeth.

Angel chuckled, reached out for the younger vampire and then - _Oh dear Lord_!

Never had Giles pulled off his glasses so fast, as he involuntarily took a step back and then hit his head against the bookshelf behind him.

He suppressed an outcry, but when he looked up he saw the two vampires right in front of him, arms crossed, silently scrutinising him. 

Had anyone ever made a study of vampire speed? Because _nothing_ moved that fast.

“Make a habit of spying on people Giles?” Angel asked, voice frosty.

“I-I... I came to return some books and... uh... saw the lights were still on...”

He was utterly at a loss for what to say, and the way Spike silently let his eyes travel up and down his body did not help at all. The blonde vampire lifted an eyebrow, expression musing.

“Come on now Watcher - stop pretendin’ to be all shocked, we know you’re not as innocent as you look. And it’s not like we’re the first couple to grab a quick snog when the studying got too boring.”

“C-c-couple...?” Giles asked faintly, although he had already seen the proof of the vampire’s word. But this cast a whole new light on a great many things and his head was still trying to catch up. 

“You mean you didn’t _know_?” Spike’s voice turned incredulous. “It’s not like it’s a secret anymore - have you been living under a _stone_?”

Angel shook his head, expression musing. “No - he’s the boss. No one ever tells him any of the gossip.”

Spike rolled this over in his mind, then appeared to have a thought. “Oh - what he needs is Robertson.”

Angel looked sceptical. “You sure? Mrs Willoughsby is usually more up to date.”

Spike shook his head. “Nah - she’s a snob and only keeps on top of everything because she disapproves. And none of the others is any good. I mean Johnny is useless - sweet kid and all, but a kitchen boy just ain’t really cut out for information gathering. Jane is too scatterbrained - not to mention the fact that she pretty much lives in the wash house still. There’s Lily of course...” his voice became smoother and a small smile touched his mouth.

The other one sighed. “You just like Lily because she flirts with you.” 

“Hey - she’d flirt with you too if you’d just _look_ at her.”

Angel appeared to be peeved. “Well I’m just not comfortable ogling girls wearing that little. Especially not drowned ones.”

“Your loss mate,” Spike shrugged. “ _I_ think that negligee is very fetching. Anyway, you’re probably right - she’s more concerned about what the girls are _wearing_ than what they’re up to - and of course she’s from next door.”

He turned back to Giles. “Yep - what you need is Robertson.”

“Who?” He had been getting increasingly confused as they spoke. “Who are all these people?”

“Your ghosts,” Spike replied as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

“G-ghosts? There are ghosts in this building?”

“Well yes. Gotta say most of them are friggin’ over the _moon_ that you lot took over. Apparently the place was almost sold off to some property developer and turned into flats. And speaking as an ex-ghostie myself, gotta say that’s got to have been pretty terrifying!”

Giles blinked. Then frowned and blinked again. “Ex- _what_? You were a _ghost_?”

Spike nodded; looking completely sane and rational, which was even more worrying. “The amulet - you remember it, yeah? - it brought me back as a ghost, and I haunted Wolfram & Hart for ‘bout half a year. Can’t recommend it - make sure you shuffle off cleanly when your time comes Rupert.”

Giles decided not to press the issue right now and focus on the start of the conversation. “But - you’re saying that there are ghosts in this building?”

“Only four - although there’s a lot of visiting going on from next door. Anyway, you should like Robertson - very solid fella. Got bumped off by the wife back in... 1867 I think... Anyway, he was obviously pissed off that she’d just married him for his money and decided to hang around to make her life as miserable as he could. ‘Course she just moved out and he was stuck. We’ll let him know you’d like a word.”

“Um... thank you... I think...” Tiredness was hanging like a fog in his head, and Giles found it strangely difficult to think. Hadn’t there been something he had been trying to remember? A battle or... No, it was gone.

Saying goodbye he made his way out again, and it wasn’t until he was halfway up the stairs that he realised that he’d never said anything about the smoking. Somehow it suddenly didn’t seem all that important anymore.

***

When he came into work the next morning, Giles was still not entirely sure that he hadn’t just dreamt the whole thing. He smiled at all the various Slayers he passed on the way to his office, and nodded a good morning to his secretary as she handed him a list of the day’s appointments. He was still studying it as he entered his office, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a deep, cultured voice suddenly spoke.

“Mr Giles? Young William mentioned that you would look favourably upon making my acquaintance.”

Giles looked up, took in the Victorian gentleman sitting in his favourite armchair, and with a deep sigh realised that he had not been dreaming after all.

Which left him with the rather uncomfortable problem of trying to work out what to say the next time he saw Buffy...


	6. Chapter 6

_April 2005._

“Spike,” Buffy said, observing him from the bedroom doorway, “The Village People called. They want their newest member back.”

He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, carefully applying black nail polish. His hair was a deliberately ordered mess of brown curls, tipped with white, and he wore a tightly fitting black sleeveless T-shirt and black leather pants. But his feet were bare lending him an oddly vulnerable air, despite the clothing and the assortment of necklaces, bracelets and rings scattered around his neck, wrists and fingers.

Buffy narrowed her eyes, studying his face. Yes, he was wearing eyeliner too! 

He blew on his nails, and then answered without looking up.

“Thought about gettin’ a collar too, but figured it might be overkill.”

Angel silently came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle before resting his head on her shoulder, as he also took in the figure on the bed.

“I wouldn’t have minded a collar...” he said, his low voice almost a purr, and Buffy wondered yet again how she’d managed to get into a situation where such things were part of the daily conversation.

(Deirdre had been brilliant. After The Big Showdown, Buffy had awkwardly mumbled something about whips at the next session, at which point Deirdre had leaned back and drawled: ‘Aaaah, so that’s why they kept their trap shut…’ She had then become incredibly helpful and informative, and Buffy walked away with a head full of new terminology and the knowledge that ‘BDSM’ was yet another thing that lots of ordinary people enjoyed, that there were guidelines and roadmaps, and she wasn’t alone. It had as a matter of fact made everything a lot simpler, and she was beginning to understand the things they did and the roles they played and why it worked the way it did.)

“I’ll get you one for your birthday, pet,” Spike replied, as he with utmost concentration started on the second layer.

“OK,” she sighed. “What’s with the gay look?”

“S called metrosexual Love, look it up. Anyway, it’s not too far off what I wore in the ‘70s. Figured that since I’m growing my hair I might change the rest of my look too...”

He cast a glance at Angel, whose eyes were still on him, and smiled knowingly. “ _Someone_ appreciates it!”

She shook her head. “Which - _again_ \- proves the gay thing. Anyway hurry up - people are gonna be here soon.”

She turned her head to look at Angel, and saw that he was still focussed on Spike. By the expression on his face she could tell that there was no doubt that he would spend the whole evening thinking about collars...

She looked at Spike again. “You’re evil!”

He finally met her eyes and grinned wickedly. “Yeah... but you’re the one who wanted him to be more open about our sleeping arrangements - I’m just nudgin’ things along a little.”

Angel held her a little tighter, eyes fixed on Spike. “There was this one time in Bucharest...”

Spike eyed him levelly. “Dream on Sally, not doin’ that again.”

A thought suddenly struck Buffy. “Now this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain guest who is rather uncomfortable with this whole deal?”

Spike stared at her innocently. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

The shrill chime of the doorbell cut through the banter, and Buffy shrugged out of Angel’s arms, looking from one to the other.

“Behave!” she said sternly. 

Spike smiled a smile full of mischief. “Promise Love - I won’t flirt with _him_.”

Rolling her eyes she left the bedroom, pausing only when she reached the front door, casting one last critical look over herself in the tall hallway mirror.

Hair good, check, pretty dress not too upset by Angel, check, face surprisingly calm-looking... thank the Powers. Why was killing things so much less terrifying than throwing a party for all her friends?

***

But a little while later Willow, Kennedy and Angel were all sitting on the larger sofa, chatting away surprisingly smoothly - although of course Angel had been to South America and was more than happy to discuss the ways in which the continent had changed and developed since his day.

Even so, he’d at first made moves to help Buffy with the food, but she had told him very firmly to stay put. She was perfectly capable of heating a few pizzas on her own, and the kitchen was so small that she’d just fall over him. 

Having taken drinks orders, she returned with a tray at the same time as Spike finally emerged from the bedroom, draping himself in the doorway and once more proving himself to be a complete attention whore.

Willow and Kennedy followed the direction of her eyes, and Kennedy let out a low, slow whistle. 

“I don’t often consider going bi, but damn - he is _hot_!”

Willow just opened her mouth, and then shut it again as Spike caught her eyes. 

“Pink fuzzy number. I remember!” 

The cryptic comment was followed by a very suggestive eyebrow-raise, and Willow went puce and looked like she was back in High School.

Buffy frowned at him. He might turn her to jelly too, but she was able to keep up a front, thankfully. 

“I _told_ you to behave.” 

He smiled back, all innocent. “Only givin’ the dear lady a compliment.”

Then he sauntered over and sat himself on the floor by Angel’s feet, daintily leaning his head against the other’s leg. Buffy blinked, because the tableaux reminded her of a king with a faithful, obedient servant at his feet. Which was preposterous since the words ‘obedient’ and ‘Spike’ never fit in the same sentence. 

Well... not at times like this anyway. 

Then the doorbell rang again, and moments later Andrew, Dawn and Xander were busy hanging up their coats. But as they walked through to the sitting room, Xander stopped, staring.

“Why is Spike dressed as a rent-boy?”

Spike didn’t answer, just smiled enigmatically and looped an arm around Angel’s leg.

Buffy sighed. “He’s trying out new looks - what with growing his hair and stuff. Please just ignore him.”

Xander nodded slowly. “Well if the Champion gig fails to pay the bills, he could certainly earn some extra money on the side for you...”

Buffy blinked, but Spike threw his head back and laughed. Only Angel looked slightly offended, but Spike leaned forward.

“So tell me carpenter - how much are you offering? I’m not exactly cheap.”

Xander eyed him levelly.

“Quite frankly I think you owe me, considering that you never paid a single cent in rent.”

“I lived in a _cupboard_ , I don’t think that counts.”

“That was a _room_! It had a window and everything.”

Xander sat down in the armchair next to Spike, keenly arguing his point, and Buffy smiled in relief. It seemed that he hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that he’d done his best to come to term with how things were now, and Buffy could have kissed him.

Then Willow caught her attention.

“Buffy - I’ve been meaning to ask. I mean, if you don’t mind... How’s Giles taking this whole thing?” 

She waved towards Spike and Angel, before continuing. “He still seemed a bit shellshocked at Christmas, and that was before... other revelations.”

Buffy sighed, and sank into a chair.

“I don’t know. He just... looks uncomfortable most of the time. And sometimes he _almost_ says something, and then catches himself and pretends that it was nothing. By the way, has anyone told you about the ghosts?”

“Ghosts?” Kennedy asked. “What ghosts?”

“In the Council building,” Buffy replied, and then Dawn took over, happily expanding on her new favourite subject. Andrew, surprisingly, seemed rather quiet, but Buffy wasn’t about to complain, as she was more concerned about where Faith had got to - but then Faith was never particularly punctual. At which point her cellphone started buzzing with a message from Faith, saying she’d be late and to start without her. 

Which reminded Buffy to check on the pizzas, even as Angel started to say something. She mouthed ‘Stay!’ and walked off - he was very gorgeous in his black silk shirt, but the Back-Seat Cook thing was getting on her nerves.

***

The evening turned out to be a great success. All her friends were together in one place, along with her vampires, and everyone was talking and catching up and enjoying themselves. Awkwardness had apparently been banished to another dimension, and there was no great looming disaster to hang over the party. If Willow got the teleporting thing figured out they could probably do this more often, rather than having to rely on planes.

Really, it wasn't natural. Surely any minute now an army of rampaging demons would come bursting through the door? She studied the door with great concentration for a long moment, but nothing happened. But then demons didn't often rampage through second floor apartments in the middle of London... 

Shaking herself out of her paranoia she began collecting used plates, and Angel got up and started to help, despite her protestations.

“Hey - he wants to help, what’s the problem?” 

Kennedy looked bemused, and Buffy shook her head.

“He’s not _helping_ , he’s making sure I do things ‘properly’. See in reality he was born to be a 50s housewife, but never got the opportunity - I ought to get him an apron and some hair curlers.”

She could almost _feel_ Angel’s glower, and wasn’t at all surprised when he firmly shut the door to the kitchen after they brought in the last things. Sometimes he had no sense of humour at all.

What she didn’t expect was to be crushed against the tallest of the cupboards as he kissed her fiercely.

“Angel?” she gasped, as he finally let go of her mouth, and he shook his head.

“Did you two conspire against me tonight?”

“Huh?”

“Cause you are both walking around looking so darn edible that I think I’m going crazy.”

His hands were sliding up her legs, gently pushing up her skirt, and she moved them away.

“You vampires!”

Chuckling, low and dirty, he picked her up and placed her on the work top.

“Nothing to do with being a vampire. When Spike says that I used to be a ‘drinking, whoring layabout’ he’s really making an understatement. Before I was turned, this-” he let a finger trail up the inside of her leg, “-was my area of expertise.”

She swallowed, mouth going dry.

“Don’t- my friends are...”

“Makes it more exciting, don’t you think?” he purred, softly kissing her neck and simultaneously pulling off her underwear.

“Angel please-”

“Also Spike ought to stop them disturbing us. Presuming he can think straight enough...”

At the look on her face, he smiled wickedly.

“Oh he can hear us, _trust_ me,” he murmured, before dropping to his knees, and Buffy gave up protesting.

How could everything have changed, and yet have stayed the same?

***

When they returned to the sitting room a little while later, the rest of the group was thankfully caught up in a long, rather confusing, story told by Willow and Kennedy, and full of interruptions and corrections and minor arguments.

Spike had secured himself a seat on the smaller sofa, and Buffy sat down next to him, studiously avoiding his eyes. But he leaned over, whispering in her ear as he helped himself to a handful of crisps.

“And you call _me_ evil! Do you have _any_ idea how uncomfortable I am now?”

“I think you and Angel about even,” she shot back, trying her best to appear as if she was listening to the still-unfolding story, which was apparently coming to its conclusion. 

Evil boyfriends were very bad for her concentration.

But once the story was finally finished Andrew stood up, cleared his throat, and pulled out a piece of paper from a pocket. An expectant hush fell over the room, and he smiled nervously.

“I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, but I wanted to wait until all the people were gathered who helped me to find the path of righteousness and turn my back on the dark side, because without you guys-”

He swallowed, clearly overcome with emotion. Spike looked like he was going to say something, and Buffy kicked him.

“Um... without you guys I wouldn’t be here, and so I felt that you should be the first to know.”

He took a deep breath and clearly pictured himself standing on the bridge of the Enterprise.

“So... I shall no longer hide my true self, like Northstar had to do, for so many long years. For like him, the course of my love runs not to the fairer sex but towards my own, and I stand here today, to declare as he once did: I am gay.”

Spike rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘duh!’ and Buffy kicked him again.

“I am guided in my hope of future love not just by the incredible tales of Midnighter and Apollo, but also by the true warmth and affection of Willow and Kennedy, whose love first blossomed in the dark shadow of apocalypse.”

Willow and Kennedy looked at each other and then at Andrew, doing a joint “Awww”, and Spike moved his leg out of the way before Buffy could kick him for a third time.

“But - I also need to acknowledge another couple, whose bravery and unflinching mutual support and love in the face of public opinion has been a true inspiration. Spike and Angel - I salute you!”

For one long, tremulous second, Andrew beamed at the vampires, as they in turn goggled at him speechlessly.

Reaching out, Buffy tentatively put her hand on Spike’s arm, but he shrugged her off, eyes fixed on the going-paler-by-the-second young Watcher across the room.

“What did you say?” he finally asked, voice low and dangerous as he - seemingly without moving - stood up, Angel now next to him.

Andrew swallowed. “Your... s-support and love has been a-a true inspiration?”

“We need to have a talk,” Angel stated coldly as he grabbed Andrew by the scruff of the neck and hauled him towards the bedroom.

“We won’t hurt him. Much,” Spike clarified, mouth set in distaste. “Well... depends how you define ‘hurt’.”

A second later the bedroom door shut, cutting out Andrew’s confused babbling, and the rest of them were looking at each other in uncomfortable silence. Buffy, heart sinking, could feel her happy reunion turn into... she wasn’t quite sure what. 

Should she go after them? Or should she pretend that everything was fine? The longer silence reigned, the more awkward the whole thing became - she had obviously been a fool for thinking that everyone could get along...

Then the front door opened and Faith walked in, looking becomingly flustered and a bit dusty.

“So, what’d I miss?”

For a second everyone kept not moving. Then Dawn spoke up.

“Um, Andrew came out - out of the closet, I mean, he did a whole speech - and now Spike and Angel are going to kill him. Or maybe just maim him, they weren’t very specific.”

Faith’s eyebrows rose to comical heights.

“For being _gay_?”

“No, because he called their mutual love inspirational.”

Faith chuckled, and tossed her coat over a chair.

“Dude, how stupid can you get? Hey B - is there any food left? I’m _starving_!”

The uneasy spell broken, conversation re-ignited, and Buffy - unspeakably grateful - fetched Faith all the leftovers.

A little while later the vampires reappeared with a wan-looking Andrew, the two of them easily joining in the chatter - as always happy to see Faith. Only Buffy seemed to notice Andrew’s nervousness, and the anxious furtive glances he continued to shoot Spike and Angel - and the occasional cold-as-ice looks he’d get back, that made him almost physically recoil.

It wasn’t something she could describe, but it felt like an entire army of jumpy ants with frozen feet were marching around her stomach, and she didn’t breathe easy until the last guest had left. 

At least the evening had proved that they could all - with a bit of work - get along and have a good time. But it would clearly take years before the tension faded. 

Or maybe she was just paranoid?

Having by some some miracle managed to get all the glasses to fit into the dish washer, Buffy returned to the sitting room to find Spike slouched on the sofa, saying rude things about Horatio Cane who was strutting about the TV screen in all his ginger midget-y glory - blithely ignoring Angel who was studying him in a way that Buffy knew would mean another ruined T-shirt.

Leaning against the door frame, watching them, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Despite everything they had been through the past months - the awkwardness, the secrets, the pain, the constant difficulties of trying to balance their unconventional life - they were definitely worth it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're at the end! Thank you for following this far, I hope you'll think it worth it. <3
> 
> In short: This is where the summary finally comes into play. And it’s the strangest thing, but although the whole story has literally been building to this (after all it begins with the ending) it still hurts every time I get to this point.

_May 2005_

"Buffy - could I have a word?"

"Sure," she smiled, "which one were you thinking of?"

Giles faltered for a moment as 'coward' flashed through his mind, before covering up the discomfort with a polite smile. "Ah. Yes quite. I see your wit is still sharp enough to slay a watcher. If you'd come in?"

He stood aside and let her walk past him into his office, in the process waving goodbye to the young Slayer she'd been chatting to. As he closed the door behind them she fell into one of the comfy armchairs by his desk.

"So what's up? I'm figuring it can't be anything major, since you're not calling a proper war council."

He shook his head as he walked round the desk before pulling out a drawer and extracting a folder.

"No it's nothing much, to be honest. Just an old case that I thought maybe you - or rather Spike and Angel, if you'd be so kind as to be my messenger - could possibly shed light on. It's a long shot, but..."

He let his voice trail off, wondering if the vampires had ever told her of their meeting down in the archives. He had made a point of avoiding them since, through a discomfort that he knew was cowardly, but that he couldn't shake. Buffy, thankfully, seemed as unwilling to discuss the finer points of their sleeping arrangements as he did, and they generally managed to avoid the topic with great success. As for this _particular_ inquiry he knew he could easily have asked the vampires himself, but the thought of confronting them again - even with an inquiry as innocuous as this one - filled him with unspecified dread, so instead he had (after many weeks’ worth of prevarication) decided on going through Buffy, even though it would require a few explanations.

"Go on," she said as he sat down, folder on the desk. 

"Did you ever hear of the Phoenix Massacre?"

She thought for a moment. "I don't think so. When are we talking?"

"September - I think you were in Spain at the time, and it was an isolated incident so it's unlikely that you ever saw the report... Long story short, a local businessman - Richard Sherman - was, along with all his guests, murdered during his 50th birthday celebrations. There are photos..."

He opened the file and his hand hovered over the gruesome pile, uncertain, as Buffy held out her hand. "They're... quite graphic," he warned, handing them over, and he saw her flinch as she took in the bloodbath. 

"We never found the culprits, although it looks as if either Sherman - or possibly the perpetrators - were planning a ritual sacrifice, judging by the altar. And as you'll see, some of the victims were drained of their blood."

"Vampires?" she asked, and he shook his head. 

"No, it wouldn't seem so." He indicated the photos, and she flicked through until she reached the relevant ones. Her swiftly subdued look of pure disgust spoke vividly as she took in the figures strung up by their feet to a chandelier, throats slit. 

"Now we know that he was a Wolfram & Hart client, so it's possible that this was some kind of retribution. Of course we tried to pursue this avenue of inquiry, but they're not keen on sharing as I'm sure you know."

"So what do you want from me - or Spike and Angel rather?"

"Ah." He withdrew a report from the folder. "Like I said, Sherman himself and all his guests were murdered. Locked in with a holding spell as far as we could ascertain. _However_ , his daughter and the staff were taken to safety by two unidentified men. Our local Slayer tried her best to get a description, but all she managed to get out of the witnesses was that they were wearing long dark coats. Now I didn't give much thought to the identity of these men at the time, but with hindsight..."

Buffy nodded. "You think they might know who was behind it?"

" _If_ it was Spike and Angel who were at the scene I hoped maybe they could help us locate the perpetrators, or at least give us a clue as to who they could be... Angel, certainly, knows a great deal more about Wolfram & Hart’s working methods than I or anyone else in the Council..."

"Gotcha," Buffy nodded, and he gratefully handed over the folder. It was a long shot, but he disliked unsolved cases. And they'd mentioned Phoenix that night in the archives...

***

She could smell the dinner even halfway up the stairs and smiled to herself. How had she ever coped before she had live-in vampires to fuss over her?

When she entered she saw Angel deep in study on the sofa, books piled up on the table in front of him, and heard a happy shout of welcome from the kitchen. 

"Giles asked for a favour, by the way," she said, tossing the folder on the table on top of the smallest book pile and leaning in to kiss Angel. "He wondered if you knew anything about this? Bit of a Cold Case kinda deal."

Angel smiled, detaching himself from the tome he was embedded in, and picked up the folder. She turned, shrugging out of her coat, and walked off to hang it up. "Long shot, I know, but maybe you've got some Wolfram & Hart-y background or something? Poor Giles, he's still all embarrassed..."

When she returned from the hallway she saw the folder opened and Angel with the photos in his hand, frozen in place.

"I know the pictures are... pretty hardcore, but I figured you'd seen worse..." She stopped, uncertain. "Angel? Are you OK?"

Had she accidentally hit on some old trauma? Or maybe he'd known some of the people? Spike (soft curls framing his face and a spatula in his hand) appeared in the kitchen doorway a second later, looking from her to Angel.

"What's the matter?"

Angel finally moved, head turning to meet Spike's eyes, and then spoke, voice flat and emotionless.

"Phoenix."

Spike's face changed instantly. A flicker of something _(other)_ flashed across his features, and for a second Buffy could almost feel her own presence vanish from their minds. Then Spike closed his eyes and let his head fall against the doorway. 

"Oh _fuck_."

"What is it?" she asked, worry shooting through her. Angel didn't answer, and when Spike opened his eyes again his face was carefully expressionless.

"End of the line, pet."

She shook her head. "Enough with the cryptic, _talk_ to me!"

Slowly Angel turned back to her, eyes so dark that she almost shuddered. 

"Buffy... If we tell you the truth, it's over."

He had that stubborn look on his face once again and quiet fury began to take over. _'Not **again** '_, she thought, _'We did this already.'_

_"Tell_ me," she said, folding her arms and staring them down. They were dictating the rules again, which was beyond infuriating. How often did they have to do this? After everything they'd been through, what difference could Phoenix make? 

Then Spike started talking, and her world fell apart.

***

The knock on the door made Faith frown. One, she didn't know who it could be (grab a stake, just in case) and two, who-or-what-ever-it-was was interrupting her viewing of The Simpsons. When she opened the door however, she was faced with Buffy - a holdall in one hand and the Scythe in the other.

"What's up?" Faith asked, uncertain, because the last time she'd seen that carefully controlled look of heartbreak on her fellow Slayer's face she'd just been thrown out of her own house. And no way in hell Spike and Angel would ever do that. Or maybe something had happened to them... 

"I think it's over," Buffy said quietly. "Can I crash here?"

"Sure. It's a bit-" Faith waved towards the not-very-ordered mess, taken aback by this unexpected turn of events (Buffy's little ménage à trois had until now come across as the very definition of bliss), but Buffy just shrugged and walked through the door. "Don't care. Just needed to... get away."

She sank down into the old sofa (a bargain from the bric-a-brac place down the road), the bag by her feet but the weapon still clutched tightly in her hand.

"What happened?" Faith asked, carefully closing the door before clicking off the TV. For a moment Buffy didn't answer, then slowly she put down the Scythe and opened her holdall.

"Did you ever hear about the Phoenix Massacre?" she asked, and Faith nodded. 

"Yeah, it was one of Vi's girls who checked it out, and she got pretty freaked out. Majorly gross as far as I remember."

She took the folder that Buffy silently handed her and flicked through it, nodding to herself. Vi's girl had been pretty green still, and - despite having done exceedingly well - Vi had recommended that she take some time off. 

Looking up she saw Buffy watching her, then: "It was them."

"Them who?"

"Spike and Angel. They did it. Giles... Giles thought that maybe they were the ones who'd helped the daughter and the staff escape - and it was. But then they locked all the guests in. And killed them."

"Jeez..." Faith managed, lowering her eyes and focussing once more on the photos. Humans and demons torn to pieces, the floor slippery with blood...

"But- but they were evil, right? He was like a Wolfram & Hart lackey or something..."

"Oh yeah," Buffy said. "Seriously bad news. He was going to sacrifice his daughter for wealth and influence, and the guests were all there to watch."

"So..." Faith prompted, as Buffy didn't continue. "So they deserved it, right?"

"Suppose so. But that's not... that was just an excuse. They didn't _have_ to kill them, but they did anyway - because they _wanted_ to, because they _could_ ," she said slowly, bitterly. "And they had _fun_." 

She shook her head, silently, and Faith sat down next to her, carefully stowing the photos into the folder, disappointment like a heavy weight in her chest.

"And that's not even the worst of it..."

"Buffy..." Faith said helplessly, putting an arm around her shoulders, as Buffy stared ahead, clearly not ready to let go of the rigorous control yet, and Faith wondered what was coming. What could possibly be worse? 

Finally Buffy turned to her, eyes haunted.

"They're not sorry. 'No regrets', that's how they put it. Apparently-" she faltered briefly, then continued, voice only trembling for a moment, "-apparently the sex was too good."

Faith inhaled sharply, as Buffy buried her head in her hands. There seemed nothing to say so Faith just kept her hand on Buffy's back, the disappointment turning to shock and disgust. She was the first to acknowledge that fighting made you horny, but this...

For the longest moment Buffy didn't move, but then she slowly lowered her hands looking at Faith with haunted eyes. 

"I don't know anymore, Faith. I thought I knew them, I thought- God, they've shared my bed for half a year..."

She tried to suppress a shudder, but didn't succeed very well. "They told me, of course - told me that I couldn't trust them, but I wouldn't believe it. Never thought that-"

Finally she broke down and Faith could only hold her silently, eyes of their own accord finding their way back to the inauspicious folder and she wondered what Buffy had said to them. Had she screamed at them the way Faith wanted to now? Or had she been too hurt?

"What are you going to do? Is it like _over_ over?" she finally asked, once Buffy had calmed down, and Buffy shook her head, lost.

"I don't know... I already miss them, how ridiculous is that? Can I... Can I stay here while I work things out?"

"Sure," Faith replied. "Make yourself at home, girlfriend. But what do I tell... y'know, people?"

"Girlfriend bonding time?" Buffy offered with a weak smile, and Faith nodded. 

"Cool. Don't worry about things, I'll make sure you get some peace."

"Thank you," Buffy replied. "And thank you for... just being here. The others wouldn't understand..."

_(Thank God we're hot chicks with super powers...)_

Faith nodded again. Sometimes they needed that lifeline - someone so much like themselves that they didn't need to explain. Someone whose face they'd worn. Literally.

***

__  


_(‘What if she doesn't come back?’)_

_(‘You and me and the dark; blood calling to blood. That's how the story (always) ends, Lover.’)_

***

Buffy didn't talk much the next few days. Faith took over her training schedule and other duties at the Council, casually telling Giles that Buffy had decided on a brief holiday. Giles, although looking a bit surprised, had not said much. There'd been a minor crisis in China somewhere and he was run off his feet. As long as the work got done he wasn't going to kick up a fuss.

After four days of more or less silent contemplation (and one night of dangerous slaying - Faith could tell the cuts were deep, even if Buffy had not done anything except slap some band-aids on them after a shower), Buffy finally seemed to have made a decision. When Faith came home she was standing by the window, looking out, her holdall once more packed and by the door and the Scythe held in her hand.

She turned as Faith entered, and they watched each other in silence for a moment, then Buffy took a deep breath.

"I'm going back to them."

Faith nodded, wondering what this decision would cost her friend.

"Spike told me once that no matter how much I love them, they'll always be monsters. I didn't understand then. Or maybe I didn't want to face the consequences. I knew there was stuff they weren’t telling me, like... everything Angel did at Wolfram & Hart, and I… never asked. I wanted it all - their world and mine. But I can't have that, and I'm choosing them." 

For a moment she was silent, and Faith didn't know what to say. 

_(Are you the Bad Slayer now? Am I the Good Slayer now?)_

Her questions must have shown on her face, because Buffy lowered her eyes.

"I know what you're thinking. And I'm not OK with what they did. But I've been thinking, and I worked something out: They're not my responsibility. They always thought they weren’t ‘good enough’. That what they’d done - not just in the past, but what they’d done _to me_ \- meant that I shouldn’t love them. But love… doesn’t work like that. I can forgive them for what the times they hurt me, but the rest - the rest isn’t up to me. They’re not human, and never will be, but I... want them. Despite... because of what they are. And I _know_ it's screwed up, but I lost them once, and I... I can't throw away what we have."

Faith held up her hands. "Hey chill - no need to justify yourself to _me_."

"I think I'm probably trying to justify myself to myself," Buffy replied wryly, before continuing, sombre once more. 

"Anyway, I'm going to go see Giles now, hand in my resignation. Figure I can work with Spike and Angel to take down Wolfram & Hart, I know they could do with the help. And I dunno - maybe I could write a book some day. The Insider's Guide to Vampires or something. Something to help the other girls understand what we fight; how... deep it runs."

Her knuckles clutching the Scythe were white, but then she hefted it and walked over to Faith, holding it out.

"Lead them well."

For a moment Faith was completely speechless, frozen in place, and Buffy's hand wavered for just a moment.

"Please Faith..."

"Course, B," she finally said, grasping the Scythe firmly, "but are you sure?"

Buffy nodded. "It's the only way it can work."

Their eyes met, silent understanding between them.

"Be happy," Faith said softly and a small smile touched Buffy's mouth.

"That's the idea..."

After she'd left, Faith didn't move for a long time. 

_(It's old. It's strong, and it feels like... like it's **mine**.)_

A whole new life, in the blink of an eye. She held the Scythe tightly, and slowly smiled.

***

No dinner smell this time. No smell at all. But when she reached her door Buffy stopped, leaning into it. She had been worried that - despite her instructions - they would have left, but she could feel them. Closing her eyes she let herself remember Spike's crypt, remembered sensing him everywhere she was. So lost, and yet fighting against the only one who'd found her.

_(He's everything I hate. He's everything that... I'm supposed to be against. But the only time I ever feel anything is when...)_

Playing with fire, that's what he'd said. Like cavemen. Like she'd sung once. But how could she live without? She should have known, back when Angel had given her a cross _(Don't trust me)_... Known that this contradiction was what would always draw her in.

So now there would be no more lies, no more hiding. Just the three of them, and the fire...

_'I'm not your Saviour,'_ she thought. _'Your sins are your own to carry. If we kill each other, then so be it. This is my choice.'_

She took a deep breath and opened the door. Two demons with human faces; beloved, beautiful, dangerous, deadly. _Hers._

She was the girl who loved monsters, but her life wasn't a fairy tale. She kissed them but the monsters never left, and she'd never have her happily ever after. But she had this.

"I'm back," she said. "And here's how it's going to be."

***

_They were always there. She could feel them, sense them, one on each side - like body guards, or loyal servants from times past. Her black shadows. She knew what people said about her, the way the other slayers talked. How her life was a dance with the bizarre and how she was more like a demon than a slayer. How the night was a part of her, how the hunt and the kill and the blood ran deeper in her than the others. And how she shared her life and her bed with two vampires..._

_But they didn’t understand. And she didn’t care. She’d lived and died and saved the world enough times to do whatever the hell she wanted._

The End


End file.
